


Rosenmontag

by glitterburn (orphan_account)



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Crossdressing, Kink Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-28
Updated: 2010-09-28
Packaged: 2017-10-12 06:47:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/122050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/glitterburn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rosenmontag is a day of illusion, but Adrian finds it impossible to separate fantasy from reality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rosenmontag

**Author's Note:**

> for Val. The story is set during Rosenmontag, the high point (or low point!) of Fasching, the 'carnival' period within the German calendar, and a day when social order is inverted, giving people the opportunity to dress up and get very drunk.

Adrian looks at himself in the hotel room mirror. He adjusts the angle of his bow tie beneath the stiff, starched collar of his pristine white shirt, then runs his hands down the satin lapels of his formal black tailcoat. He takes a step back, turns to check the fall of the tails, then nods at his reflection, satisfied. He's just putting on a black wool overcoat when a knock comes at the door. One arm in and one arm out of his coat, Adrian opens the door and chuckles at the sight of Timo in knitted silver chain mail and moulded grey plastic armour, with a helmet trailing a long red plume tucked under his arm.

"My knight in shining armour," Adrian says with a grin. "Where's your date?"

"She's probably in the girls' bathroom shrieking about lipstick and nail polish with your date." Timo gives him a disdainful look and pokes at the tailcoat. "What the hell is this? We agreed to dress up for Rosenmontag."

Adrian wriggles into the overcoat. "I am dressed up."

"As a concert pianist!" Timo laughs at him. "You're so lame, Adrian. Everyone else has made an effort and you just pull on any old thing from the back of your wardrobe."

"It's not..." Adrian stops the rest of the sentence. There's no point in admitting that the suit is only hired. Timo wouldn't believe him. Adrian wonders if it'll always be this way, if he'll always be considered a paddock joke. He has the feeling that, even if he won the WDC, people would still point at him and say, "There's Adrian Sutil. He plays the piano."

He pastes a smile on his face and ushers Timo into the corridor. "Let's go find the girls."

Timo brightens. He puts on the helmet and lifts the visor to peer at Adrian, then strikes a heroic pose, knocking a gloved fist against the breastplate of his fake armour. "Then we can start drinking!"

Adrian sighs. It's going to be a long evening.

They share the lift with the owl and the pussycat. The owl is drunk already and slumps against the pussycat, burbling incoherent endearments. Timo watches, openly amused. Adrian looks at the tips of his polished shoes. He's relieved when the lift doors roll open, and they emerge into the hotel lobby. People dressed as sunflowers talk to people dressed as peapods. Pirates flirt with cowboys, and a guy on a space-hopper bounces around a group of women in colourful, glamorous outfits.

He spots Sebastian first. It's hard to miss him, the princess to Timo's knight. Sebastian looks self-conscious, wearing a medieval-style blue velvet dress with wide sleeves and a little train. The neckline of the dress has been padded, unsuccessfully, with wodges of toilet paper that stick out at odd, crumpled angles. Sebastian can barely move his head under the weight of the long blonde wig, and his gaze is tired beneath the thick false eyelashes.

Adrian waves to him. "There's your date."

Timo snorts with laughter. "Oh, God. Poor Seb. Mark would piss himself laughing if he could see this. Have you got your phone with you? I'll send him a picture."

"No, sorry, I left it in my room." Adrian looks around for his own date, wondering what outfit he chose. He scans the lobby, his gaze returning time and again to the girl talking to Sebastian. Her back is turned to Adrian, but there's something familiar about the shape of her hips, the curve of her arse, the length of her legs.

Timo nudges him. "Check out the hot blonde Princess Seb's managed to pull."

Realisation slams into Adrian. "It's Nico."

"Oh man!" Timo reels sideways, laughing, but Adrian can hear the note of surprise in his voice.

Sebastian murmurs something to his companion, and she—no, _he_ —turns. Adrian's belly lurches with a strange kick of lust and admiration. He's aware of Timo babbling behind him but pays no attention as he strides across the floor, his entire focus on Nico, on the woman he's become.

Nico lifts his chin and smiles. It's not a welcoming smile. It's cool, knowing, the smile of a vamp who's conscious of her ability to ensnare hapless men. And Adrian feels helpless, hopeless, his mouth open on unspoken words of astonishment as he takes in every detail of Nico's transformation. Black suede pumps with a kitten heel, fastened by a single button. Stockings—or at least the nonsensical, filthy-minded part of Adrian hopes they're stockings—glossy and seamed up the back. A skirt-suit, 1940s style, in a light shade of lavender, the skirt stopping an inch above the knees, the jacket boxy and nipped in at the waist, the hem flaring at the hips. Beneath it, an ivory satin camisole.

It's an outfit designed to flatter, to conceal and flaunt at the same time. The structured lines hide Nico's chest but cling to the firm, rounded shape of his arse. Dazzled, Adrian stares at the patch of smooth skin above the camisole and realises with a shock that Nico must have shaved or waxed or whatever. He looks up, studying Nico's familiar yet unfamiliar features. His hair has been styled into loose waves, presumably with the addition of hair extensions, though Adrian can't tell for sure, and the cut and colour softens the masculine angles of Nico's face.

His eyebrows have been pencilled dark, a frame for the smoky make-up around his eyes—liquid kohl tilting a line, Cleopatra-style; plum and grey and silver shadow artfully blended. His face is pale, matte with a dusting of powder, a mask so thin Adrian can see the skin beneath. Nico's lips are painted the shade of dusky rose, and when his smile widens, Adrian sees a fleck of lipstick on his teeth.

It makes him human, and Adrian breathes again.

Timo shoulders Adrian out of the way. "Damn, Nico, you look fine!" He mock leers at him, tongue hanging out, then bows to Sebastian. "Your Highness."

Sebastian rolls his eyes and takes Timo's arm. "Six peapods have tripped over my skirt," he announces. "What took you so long? Nico and I were ready fifteen minutes ago, and we're _girls_."

Adrian chuckles and turns to escort Nico. When Nico slides his hand through the loop of his arm and presses close, Adrian tries to dismiss the instinctive tightening of his body. Adrian notices the gleam of nail polish and inhales a surprised breath of feminine scent, something rich with floral and musk notes, something head-spinning and not at all the sort of fragrance he associates with Nico.

But this is not Nico, he reminds himself, turning an uncertain smile down on his date. This is Rosenmontag, this is not real. Adrian lifts his free hand, wanting to touch Nico's cheek, but instead contents himself with brushing back a lock of soft platinum hair. "You've got lipstick on your teeth," he murmurs.

A flash of annoyance breaks Nico's composure. He drops his head and scrubs a fingertip over his teeth, for a moment a self-conscious man in drag. When he lifts his gaze again and smiles, revealing perfect white teeth, the illusion returns.

Adrian nods. "Good," he says, and they follow Timo and Sebastian out into the crowd of partygoers on the street.

* * * *

The club is packed. Hot jazz, cold beer, a sweaty crush of revellers. On the dance floor, the crowd is jumping, and Adrian weaves his way from the bar, four bottles of beer clutched in his hands. He drops into their booth at the back of the club and distributes the alcohol. Sebastian groans. He's face-down on the table, his blonde wig askew and the trailing ends matted with beer and food. Timo takes Sebastian's beer and drinks it for him, winking at Adrian.

Nico doesn't touch his drink. He's still got two vodka mixes in front of him, ice cubes melting slowly in the glasses. His gaze is unfocused and he sways to the beat of the music, but he's not drunk. He's high on excitement, his body trembling. It's like desire, like being held on the edge of orgasm, and Adrian knows the feeling well, responds to it, because the music is like quicksilver through his veins.

Timo steals Nico's beer, but Nico doesn't care. He shifts along the leatherette seat and rests his head on Adrian's shoulder. Perfume and sweat and heat combine, filtering into Adrian's head, toying with his control.

"Dance with me," Nico whispers, and Adrian shivers. Maybe it's their proximity, maybe it's the touch of Nico's breath against his neck, but Adrian feels a hot, urgent strike of inappropriate lust. He stands quickly before he gets a hard-on and offers Nico his hand.

Nico touches him, takes his hand, and Adrian stifles a groan. He spins Nico around before he can get too close, and they edge onto the dance floor. Nico slips into the rhythm, hips swaying, his weight balanced through the balls of his feet. He avoids grounding himself, dancing like a woman. Adrian laughs in appreciation and lets go of his self-consciousness, dropping into the beat, second-guessing the music. He half closes his eyes, singing along, and encroaches into Nico's space.

They dance together, just two bodies moving in time. Sweat glistens on Nico's top lip. His eyes flash. He laughs, his head thrown back. He shimmies closer, caught in the tempo, and Adrian draws him in. It's fun, it's a sense of freedom, and if there's a seduction going on, it's mutual and it means nothing.

The music segues, one style into another, and Nico insinuates himself into Adrian's arms. Nico looks up, his gaze assessing, thoughtful. "You never said if you liked my costume."

"That was wrong of me." Adrian slides his hands down the back of Nico's jacket and cradles his hips, drawing him closer. "You look amazing. Like a movie star. Grace Kelly. Marlene Dietrich."

Nico laughs, delight shining from him. "I knew you'd wear this," he says, smoothing his hands along the lapels of the tailcoat, "so I wanted to pick something that would complement it."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh." Nico's eyes seem too bright in the glare of the strobes, and he looks away. "I knew you'd dress like this."

"Boring, you mean?" Adrian doesn't intend for his words to sound so defensive, but he suspects mockery, and he doesn't want to justify himself.

Nico looks surprised. "It's not boring. Who told you it was boring?"

Adrian doesn't answer. Nico was always too sharp, too quick to know when things were fragile, when moods were breakable. They're silent for a while, moving to the music, their bodies fitting together naturally and without awkwardness.

"It's unfinished business," Nico says at length. He flits from Adrian's arms, spins around him, then comes back, his hands flat against Adrian's chest in an almost-caress. "Your costume isn't really a costume. It's who you are, who you could still be." He dances away again, and this time Adrian reaches out and grabs him, reeling him in.

"You're drunk," he says in accusation, but knows it's not true.

Nico shakes his head and smiles. "You're in denial."

"I know what I am. Who I am." Adrian captures Nico's hands and holds them tight against his sides, forcing them to dance closer. "Anyway, if your weird analysis is right, what does that make Timo and Seb? What does it make you?"

"Timo wants to be a hero and Seb is content with being a princess. And I don't mean that in a negative way. Think about it." Nico twists his hands free as the music changes from an up-tempo beat to a slower tune. He loops his arms around Adrian's neck and leans into him. "As for me..."

"Yes?" Adrian tilts his head down, wanting to hear Nico's explanation.

Instead, Nico laughs.

Adrian stares at him, bemused and exasperated and full of affection. "You idiot."

"Dance with me, Adrian." Nico's eyes glitter. He holds on tight, tucking his face into the curve of Adrian's neck, but his voice emerges full of passion and command. "Dance with me."

* * * *

They kiss soon after that, during a husky-voiced blues song. Adrian doesn't remember who initiated the kiss. He just knows it feels right, the warmth of Nico's lips beneath his, the caress of his breath, the gentle nibble of his teeth. They kiss in the centre of the dance floor, and Adrian wonders why they haven't done this before. He touches Nico's cheek, slides a hand into his hair, lowers his head for a deeper embrace. Nico tastes of beer and lipstick and the spike of vodka, and Adrian kisses him harder, wanting more.

Someone jostles them, breaking them apart. It's sudden, shocking, and Adrian feels bereft and angry. Nico takes a step back and touches his fingers to his mouth, as if surprised by the intensity of their kiss. He lifts his gaze and stares at Adrian.

"We should... we should probably..." Adrian gestures in the vague direction of their table, but when he looks for Timo and Sebastian, they've gone. "Where...?"

Nico tilts his head. "Does it matter?"

"No." Adrian's mind goes blank. "Do you—" He stops, uncertain of what he's asking for, then continues, "Do you want to go back to the hotel?"

"Yes." This time Nico pauses, and then he laughs. "God, yes."

Adrian reclaims his overcoat and they leave the club, walking back through streets littered with the detritus of Fasching, curled paper streamers and domino masks, the emerald-faceted spill of smashed beer bottles, puddles of sour-smelling vomit, torn posters advertising party nights. Couples embrace outside U-bahn stations and make out in shadowed tram stops. A man in a peapod outfit sits slumped in a doorway, oblivious to the raucous laughter from a group of women dressed as superheroes clattering along on high heels.

Nico walks fast and holds Adrian's hand. The night is bitter with frost, the sky above the city a deep velvet blue, and Nico's breath emerges in a cloud. Adrian lets him set the pace, lengthening his stride to keep up. Within two blocks, he realises Nico is shuddering with cold. Without a word, Adrian disentangles his hand, removes his overcoat, and settles it around Nico's shoulders.

"Thank you." Nico gives him a grateful glance and snuggles into the warmth of the heavy wool. The sight pleases Adrian, and he doesn't feel the cold as they walk the last few blocks to the hotel.

They're silent as they enter the lobby and take the lift to their floor. They walk down the corridor and stop outside Nico's room. Nico leans against the wall and slants a look at Adrian, half defiant, half hopeful.

Adrian stares at him. The curiosity he felt earlier still feeds his blood. He wants to know if Nico's wearing stockings under that skirt. He wants to know if a kiss now will feel as right as it did in the club. The cold night has chased off any drunken thoughts, and now they're both sober. There's no more laughter, no more flirtation. This isn't a game. This is real, even if Nico maintains the illusion of being a woman.

The silence stretches between them. Nico becomes nervous, his tongue-tip moistening his lower lip. The dusky rose lipstick has almost gone from his mouth, left imprinted on glasses and bottles and Adrian's shirt collar, kissed away, licked away. There's still a smudge of colour though, and Adrian fixes on it. He moves forward, feeling the push of tension like a physical barrier. Nico's gaze flares; his lips part. Just before Adrian kisses him, Nico makes a tiny sound.

Adrian swallows the sound, takes it into himself. He recognises need, tastes it from Nico's lips. He shoves Nico back against the wall, his actions at odds with the tenderness of his kiss. Nico responds, biting at Adrian's mouth, sucking on his tongue. They wrestle closer, Nico grabbing at the lapels of Adrian's tailcoat, Adrian pushing open the borrowed overcoat to run his hands down Nico's tailored skirt-suit.

They keep on kissing, breathing the same air, fighting to gain control. Adrian thrusts a knee between Nico's thighs, unbalancing him, forcing him further back against the wall. Nico laughs, excited and breathless. He splays his legs, tilting his hips in blatant invitation. Adrian takes what's offered, striping a line of wet kisses down Nico's neck and into the dip of the camisole, sliding one hand up beneath Nico's skirt.

He touches the nylon mesh of the stocking pulled taut across smooth, muscled thigh. Adrian gasp-laughs against Nico's throat: "You shaved your legs."

"I wanted to look good."

"So fucking vain."

Nico pulls him up by his hair. "I wanted to look good for you."

Adrian stares at him, and then, because he can't find the words, he kisses Nico again. He moves his hand, caresses Nico's knee, feels the rough edge of a fingernail snag on the nylons. He rubs his thumb over the inside of Nico's knee, then ventures higher, stroking the warmth of his inner thigh.

A stifled moan escapes Nico's lips. He holds on tight, trembling a little as Adrian explores. They're not kissing any more, but their mouths are close, their breath mingling. Nico moans again, his breathing becoming short and staccato as Adrian moves his hand still higher.

Adrian keeps his touch feather-light, zigzagging the path his fingers take up the inside of Nico's thigh. He's wearing stockings, Adrian realises with a flash of lustful triumph as his fingertips encounter a thicker band of fabric at the top. He traces up and over, finds the fastener holding the stocking to the suspender belt, and then touches bare skin.

Nico's soft moans stop. His breath catches. He tries to speak.

Adrian's mind short-circuits. He's oblivious to everything but the feel of Nico's thigh, that patch of skin between the stocking and whatever he put on as underwear. Adrian wonders if Nico is completely naked beneath the suit. The idea makes him swallow hard. He has to know. He burrows his hand higher, pushing up the skirt. Nico struggles a little, his head moving from side to side against the wall, but his protest isn't real. He gasps and sighs, his face flushed with pleasure, and Adrian kisses him at the same time as he reaches up between Nico's legs.

"What the _fuck_?"

The exclamation shatters over them. Adrian pulls his hand back and half turns, shielding Nico with his body. He tries to tug down Nico's skirt, but Nico pushes him away and directs a haughty, challenging look at the man who's interrupted them.

Timo stands staring at them, shock in his eyes. His knightly costume has been swapped for jeans and a shirt. He weaves on his feet, drunk but not quite drunk enough that he'll forget this. He shakes his head, blinking as if he could somehow see things differently. "Are you guys...?"

Nico claws his fingers into Adrian's shoulders, then shifts his gaze from Timo and looks up, his expression bright and hard. "Are you?" Nico asks.

"Yes," Adrian says without knowing what he's agreeing to.

Nico sighs and moves, a sinuous undulation that brings him away from the wall and into Adrian's arms. He turns in the embrace, one hand reaching down to catch Adrian's wrist, the grip possessive. Nico fixes Timo with a look. "Want to watch?"

"Shit," says Timo, surprise going through him like a wave. "No. Yes. I mean..."

While Timo tries to formulate a coherent response, Nico unbuttons his jacket and withdraws a keycard from an inside pocket. He swipes the card through the lock and the light flashes green. Nico tugs at Adrian's arm, casting him a look over his shoulder.

Adrian allows Nico to pull him forward into the room. He glances at Timo, not sure if he wants an audience for this, not even knowing what 'this' is. Before he can tell Timo to fuck off, they're inside the room and the door's closed behind them. It's only Timo's stunned expression that makes Adrian feel he has the advantage here.

Nico drops the heavy woollen overcoat onto the floor and fits himself against Adrian, demanding his attention. He lifts his head, lips parted, and kisses Adrian with a ferocious hunger. Outclassed but unwilling to give up, Adrian responds. He plays dirty, grasping Nico's curvy round arse with both hands, dragging up the skirt to give Timo an eyeful of Nico's stocking-tops.

"Fuck," Timo says, and there's awe in his voice. "You two..."

Adrian ignores him, too intent on devouring Nico, who laughs into his mouth. The vibration of the laughter goes through them both, making Adrian smile. They sway together, almost a dance, bodies straining tight as the kiss flickers through them, over them, consuming them both.

Nico pulls away, his fingers busy with the buttons on Adrian's tailcoat. He whimpers as it opens to reveal a dove-grey waistcoat, and when Adrian looks at him, he's startled by the raw desire in Nico's eyes. Lust softens his features, his mouth a wanton pout, his gaze slumberous.

Adrian shrugs out of his tailcoat and hooks it over the end of the bed. He moves to undo the single button fastening his waistcoat, but Nico stays his hands. They kiss again, Nico on fire against him, rubbing close, grinding nearer. He lifts one leg and shifts it up Adrian's thigh to his waist. Adrian puts his hand on Nico's hip then hesitantly moves it down, stroking along the length of stocking-clad thigh. He hesitates over the rucked-up skirt, wanting to burrow beneath it, wanting to touch bare skin again, but instead he hooks his hand beneath Nico's raised knee and angles him even closer.

If Nico were a woman, Adrian would want to crawl inside her right about now. The idea taunts him. His confusion is a tangible pain, a physical shot of anguished yearning. He doesn't know what to do, what to think.

"It's all right," Nico whispers against his mouth. "It's all right to want this."

"Is it?" Adrian murmurs, the words almost lost to their kisses.

"Yes. I promise." The reassurance is as seductive as Nico's movements. "Don't think. Feel. Do what feels good, and it'll _be_ good."

Adrian breaks the kiss to look at him, and Nico wriggles free. He steps back and sits on the bed, stretching out his legs and pointing his toes in the black velvet pumps. He poses for a moment, aware of his power, then bends to undo the shoes.

"Wait." Adrian goes down onto his knees in front of Nico. He takes hold of Nico's right ankle, unfastens the button and lifts aside the thin strap, then slides off the shoe. Nico wiggles his toes. Adrian cradles his heel, stroking his free hand over the arch of Nico's foot then dancing his fingertips along the sole. He finds pressure points and digs in, and is rewarded with a wavering gasp. Nico slumps back onto the quilt, his body arched.

"This should be pay-per-view," Timo says behind them, and Adrian starts in sudden surprise. He'd forgotten their audience, and from the flush on Nico's face, so had he. Adrian tries to sink back into the moment. He runs his fingers up one leg and down the other, enjoying the tickle of the stockings against his skin. He unfastens the left shoe and lets it fall, then stands and watches Nico squirm back across the bed.

"You just want to look up my skirt," Nico says, breathless, pulling at the hem.

Adrian crawls onto the mattress. "I want to do more than look."

Timo groans and moves closer, his gaze avid, his mouth hanging open.

Nico's eyes are bright with anticipation. He reaches for Adrian, spanning his shoulders with his hands, pressing his palms flat against the cut of the waistcoat. He murmurs soft words of encouragement and shifts his hips, helping Adrian to tug up his skirt. This time Adrian lifts the cloth to his waist, revealing stocking-tops and a cream-coloured suspender belt beneath ivory satin French knickers.

Adrian spends some time fingering the scalloped edges of the knickers, running his hands over the flimsy lace decoration. It's sexy, feminine, subtle, not the kind of garment he usually likes on a woman, but things are different tonight. Heat and musk surround him, so different to a woman's scent, the smell hard and demanding rather than liquid and sweet. He breathes it in, pressing his face against the satin knickers, mouthing at the shape of Nico's erect cock through the delicate material.

Nico shudders. The French knickers are high-waisted, hiding the head of his prick, but a telltale wet stain of pre-come darkens the fabric. Adrian draws away, aware of his own aching erection. He cups his cock through his trousers, then unzips the flies to relieve the pressure as he edges up the bed.

The lacy French knickers match the camisole, and Adrian pushes open Nico's jacket. Even under the muted hotel light, he can see a dusting of dark hair in the centre of Nico's chest beneath the thin satin. His nipples are hard, rubbing at the silky fabric. Adrian strokes his thumb over them, feeling Nico's body tense beneath him. Thinking his touch is too light, Adrian pinches Nico's nipples, at first with the pads of his fingers, then with the added bite of his nails.

Nico jerks up from the bed, a cry of pleasure-pain torn from him. He writhes in response to the torment, squirming and gasping. Adrian wants to explore further, but an extra weight dipping the mattress makes him look up. Timo stretches out along the headboard amongst the pillows. His jeans are unbuttoned and his cock is in his hand while he watches Adrian and Nico.

Adrian stares at him.

"Sorry." The apology is blatantly insincere. Timo doesn't stop his strokes, which are slow and leisurely, as if he intends on taking his time and enjoying the show. "You guys are too fucking horny together."

"The pillow. Give me a pillow." Adrian needs to regain control of the situation. This isn't for Timo's voyeuristic pleasure. It's for him and Nico.

He catches the pillow Timo flings at him and folds it beneath Nico's arse. "His hands," Adrian snaps at Timo. "Hold him down. Do it one-handed if you have to."

Timo whistles in surprise but does as he's told, seizing Nico's wrists and bringing them over his head, gripping them both with one hand. Nico doesn't struggle, but allows Adrian to position him until he's stretched out and vulnerable and exposed. He remains still, his breathing shallow and rapid, as Adrian climbs on top of him. Aware of Timo's hungry stare on them both, Adrian lowers his head and wets the camisole with his tongue. He sucks Nico's nipples through the satin then uses his teeth, dragging the wet cloth against the sensitive nubs and making Nico buck and mewl in reaction.

Timo mutters something incoherent. Adrian ignores him, watching pleasure flash across Nico's face, reading his body's responses with the same instinct with which he feels the change and pulse of music. He scratches a delicate line up the inside of one thigh and slips his fingers inside the satin knickers. Nico jerks against the restraint of Timo's grasp and spreads his legs wider.

Adrian locks gazes with Nico as he explores, his fingertips brushing through thick curls of pubic hair and over the heavy sac of his balls. He finds the patch of skin behind and strokes across it, and feels Nico flinch and tremble. He burrows further, worming a finger into heat, probing within the cleft of his buttocks.

A look of desperation crosses Nico's face.

Adrian crooks his finger, pressing against the ring of his anus. "Want more, baby?"

Nico's eyes close, surrender in every line of his body.

At the head of the bed, Timo makes a sound of excited shock. "You're going to fuck him?"

Adrian doesn't reply. Withdrawing his hand, he focuses on Nico, rolling him onto his front and adjusting the pillow. He slaps Nico's flank, a command for him to get on all fours, and Nico obeys, kneeling forward, arse lifted high, taking his weight through his arms. The suspender belt and stockings make the perfect frame, and Adrian wishes he had a camera.

Timo yanks open the drawer in the nightstand and roots around. He throws a handful of small objects at Adrian. "Better suit up. You never know where this slut's been."

Nico shivers in response, a low, throaty moan breaking from him.

Excited, terrified, Adrian tears open the foil-wrapped packet and rolls on the condom. His cock pulses, hard and thick and hot. He opens the bubble packs of lube and slathers it along the full length of his prick, gasping a little at the chill of the gel, then he positions himself behind Nico. Adrian keeps a firm grip around the base of his cock, and with his other hand he pulls down the French knickers. His breath catches at the sight of Nico's strong, pert arse. He can't pretend this is a woman, not even if he lifts his attention to the spill of platinum blonde hair over the jacket collar. His gaze focuses on the tight buttocks in front of him, at the dark hair in the cleft. With lubed fingers he traces the seam, finds Nico's anus, and pushes against the resistance of muscle.

Nico hides his face against his arms and eases back. Adrian's fingers slip inside, and the sensation makes him swallow a sound of surprise. Following his instinct and the movements of Nico's body, Adrian thrusts a few times, stretching Nico's hole, getting him accustomed to the pace and rhythm. Only when Nico starts driving back onto his fingers does Adrian stop. He scrambles upright, guides his greased cock into position, and leans forward.

Nico groans, says Adrian's name in a breathy, desperate voice, and takes him in.

Adrian almost comes. His eyes close on the sensation, on the tight heat that grasps his cock and squeezes. He sinks deeper, forgetting rhythm, forgetting everything but this pleasure that seizes him, starting at the base of his spine and wrapping around him, drugging him with need.

"Adrian," Nico gasps. "Please."

Adrian pulls back then drives into him to the hilt. Nico cries out, his body jerking forward. He growls and thrusts back, impaling himself on Adrian's cock, and Adrian grinds deeper into him.

"Holy shit," Timo says, his eyes wide and glazed with lust. He grabs for his cock and starts jacking off.

Adrian fucks Nico, or perhaps Nico is fucking him—he can't tell; he only knows that he's not controlling this, that it's all done by pure instinct and feeling and emotion, and that it feels good— _oh, so good_ —and that Nico is trembling and crying out, his hair hanging in his face and heat pouring off him. Adrian remembers the way they danced together in the club, that hypnotic drop into the music, and he finds the pulse again, falls into the rhythm, taking Nico with him. They stop fighting, stop the struggle for dominance, and they move together as one, perfect and harmonious.

It's so good, Adrian doesn't care when Timo comes all over the quilt.

It's so good Adrian doesn't want it to end. Nico glances back at him over his shoulder, his eyes shining, and Adrian feels the sudden head-rush of orgasm approach. He tries to hold back, tries to last longer, but then Nico laughs and squeezes and Adrian snarls and shudders and comes in a glorious crescendo.

Nico pulls away from him, the wet sound of their bodies disengaging making Adrian quiver again. Turning onto his back, Nico puts a hand over the silky knickers and grasps his cock. He jerks at it, bringing himself off through the satin, the wet stain spreading as he reaches a sticky, messy climax.

Exhausted, Nico smiles at him. Adrian manages a smile in return. His cock softens, and he ties off the condom before he can re-spill his seed. He wipes himself on a corner of the quilt and hides the used condom on the floor. He stretches out beside Nico, looking at him, staring at his beautiful face flushed with heat, at the ruin of his make-up, at the tangles in his hair. Adrian feels his heart contract, a solid punch of emotion driving the breath from his body. Now it's over, he wants to kiss Nico, kiss him and hold him and do all those stupid, wonderful things lovers do in the aftermath, but he doesn't do any of it. He just lies there, watching Nico watching him, until Nico shuts his eyes and turns his head against the quilt.

All three of them remain together in silence, then Nico gets up—gracelessly, stumbling a little—and goes into the bathroom. The door falls shut, and moments later comes the sound of the shower running. Adrian listens to the patter of water against the tiles, notes the change in rhythm and tone when Nico steps into the shower. He drifts, his head full of water-music, his thoughts eddying: Nico, naked beneath the spray; Nico, so hot and tight around his cock; Nico, his friend—his _lover_...

Adrian jerks awake. He blinks up at Timo, who's sliding from the bed with a hunted, slightly embarrassed expression.

"I'm, uh, I'm going now," Timo says, and blushes. "See you later."

"Yeah. Sure." Adrian watches him go. He's relieved when the door closes. The shower is still running—how long has Nico been in there?—and Adrian sits up. Maybe he should follow Timo's example and creep away. Maybe Nico is taking ages in the bathroom because he's waiting for them both to leave. But then again, maybe Nico is confused or upset or—and Adrian starts to panic at this one—maybe he hurt Nico.

Adrian doesn't know what to do. He eases himself from the bed, zips up his trousers, and collects his tailcoat. The material is soft and slippery beneath his hands, almost alive as it slithers against his skin. Disturbed, he drops it onto a chair and paces around the room.

The bed looks untidy: pillows dented, the quilt askew, sheets rumpled. He grabs a handful of tissues and wipes at the wet stains, his nose wrinkling in disgust. Ten minutes ago, he didn't care whose spunk was on the bedcovers. Now he wonders if he's scrubbing up his own leavings, or Nico's, or Timo's. He throws away the tissues and straightens the bed, turning the pillows and plumping them, erasing all visible traces of what happened there.

Next, the window. Adrian opens it, struggling a little with the latch, and then he breathes in the frosted breeze of early morning. It clears his head, scouring away the scent of sex, and he feels clean. He stands there, inhaling the cold, then shuts the window with a bang.

When he turns back, the room seems small and stale and full of creeping shadows. He tries to shake off the sense of guilt, but only succeeds in making himself feel even more unbalanced. Panic blossoms in his throat, and suddenly it's difficult for him to draw breath. Adrian grabs his overcoat and flees across the room, then at the door he turns back to collect his tailcoat.

The bathroom door clicks open and Nico steps out. He's naked but for a towel slung low on his hips. His hair is wet, scraped back from his face, the soft, flattering, feminine length gone now. The paint and powder has washed away, and when Adrian's gaze drops to Nico's chest, he sees the roughness of hair delineating the muscles.

The illusion of femininity was always fleeting, but now it's gone. Nico is still beautiful, but he's a man. Adrian feels a pang of sadness, a strange, indefinable yearning he doesn't quite understand or want to understand.

They stare at each other. Nico's expression is unreadable. Adrian is certain his own emotions are written all over his face. He was never any good at prevaricating. Tension builds, rolls around the room, becoming a tangible force. Adrian wishes he knew the right thing to say to break the mood, but the only thing running through his head is a stupid, jaunty tune the brass band played earlier during the carnival.

Nico holds his Fasching clothes bundled in his arms. His grip tightens for a moment, then he lifts his chin. "You're not staying?"

Adrian hesitates. He doesn't know how to respond. Finally he shakes his head; a tiny movement, almost imperceptible.

Nico laughs, a soft sound on a single exhalation. He sorts through the clothes and throws something at Adrian. "Here."

He catches it and holds it up. One of Nico's stockings, cold and wrinkled, the fine nylon mesh laddered. Adrian tosses it onto the floor. He smiles. "Thanks, but I think I'd rather have your knickers."

Nico drops his head forward and snorts, his lips twitching. He pulls out the ivory-coloured French knickers and offers them out.

Adrian goes closer and takes a handful of satin. Nico holds on, and for a moment there's a pull between them, a tug of attraction and need and understanding, and then Nico lets go. He turns away, tumbling the rest of the discarded clothes onto the bed. "Have fun," he says, and there's a thread of playful amusement in his voice.

"I will." Adrian folds the silky knickers inside his tailcoat. He watches Nico tidy his clothes, watches the water droplets slide down his naked back, and thinks he must be stupid to walk away from this.

Then again, he'd be stupid to stay.

"Goodnight," he says, and retreats to the door. He waits, but when Nico makes no reply, gives him no further sign, Adrian slips out into the grey of early morning.


End file.
